Caleb’s Bad Luck Begins
On a rainy afternoon in late May, something awful happened. I truly believe it was the start of all my bad luck.
I didn’t actually see it happen. All I heard was a horn honking and the squeal of brakes. Then a teary-eyed woman appeared at our door. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
I stood at the door like a fool and said, “Sorry? Sorry for what? Honking your horn? Why would you be sorry for honking your horn?”
The woman’s bottom lip began to tremble. She could barely get the words out. I knew she was going to tell me something bad. “I-I ran over your dog,” she sobbed.
I just stood there, staring at her. Then something told me to check to see if it really was my dog. I mean, it could have been a raccoon or a possum or something. I opened the door and rushed past her. At the end of the driveway, I looked to the right, and there lay Milly on the side of the street.
The woman hurried after me. “I’m so sorry. So sorry,” she kept repeating. “The dog was just sitting there, and then I . . . Is there anything I can—?”
I looked down at Milly. She wasn’t moving. I knelt beside her and stroked her fur. It felt soft and smooth, the same as always, but when I touched her, she wasn’t breathing. I knew she was dead.
“Mom!” I hollered. “Come quick. I need you.” I don’t know why I said that. Mom didn’t need to come quickly. Milly was dead. Still, I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Mom came running out of the house with a worried expression on her face. “Caleb, what is it?”
The Puppy Learns about the Farm
I was born on a farm near the town where Caleb lived, and let me tell you: I was beautiful. Beautiful! There were five of us, but I was the most beautiful of all. We were a fuzzy, golden pile of snuggle-wuggles, nuzzling our mother for warmth.
As soon as my legs were strong enough, I moseyed around the farmyard, getting into all kinds of trouble. Once I fell into the water trough. It was awful. Water in my eyes. Water up my nose. I yelped like a squeaky horn on a tractor until Farmer pulled me out. “Curiosity kills the cat,” he said to me.
Just so you know, I don’t think Farmer could see very well. Plainly, I looked nothing like a cat. The farmyard cat was an ordinary gray while I was a beautiful golden color. Not to mention, I was a lot bigger than that grungy old cat.
One time, I rambled too close to a container of chemicals, and Farmer said, “It’s time to find good homes for you little fellas.”
When he said that, I was certain his eyesight was on the blink. In my estimation, I was a big boy. At least bigger than a cat.
Anyway, that was how I knew I was going somewhere new.